


Fairy Tales Aren't Just For Children, Detective.

by DeannaEmrys



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia, BAMF Stiles, Bank Robbers, Banshee Lydia, Besties Lydia and Stiles, Blood, Crime AU, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Erica Reyes-Boyd, F/M, Gen, Gore, Isaac and Stiles are foster brothers, M/M, Magic, Magic Is a Thing, Pierced Stiles, Slow Build?, Swearing, Tattooed Stiles, darkish stiles, people are aware of magic, people with magic are put on a watch list, powerful!stiles, slightly dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:06:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeannaEmrys/pseuds/DeannaEmrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 'Silver Wolves' have been successfully robbing banks, (and occasionally killing people), for a little over a year and Detectives Hale and Reyes-Boyd are getting nowhere trying to catch them.</p><p>So when Derek literally bumps into gorgeous, loud mouth Stiles-justStilesReallyMyNamesIsPracticallyChildAbuse, in a dive bar outside town and the answers begin to fall into his lap, he can't quite believe his luck.</p><p>Of course, that's when things really start to get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't shoot! I know I'm behind on my other stories but this plot bunny just won't leave me alone!!  
> Sorry for any (who am I kidding, ALL) mistakes or inaccuracies, feel free to help me out and (kindly and without yelling) correct any mistakes! 
> 
> Now go forth and enjoy the ramblings of a crazy women!
> 
> (Thanks for reading!) <3
> 
> Oooh and I'll probably change the title at some point!

The cigarette flares in the darkness illuminating the face of an expressionless teenage girl, before hitting the pavement, it's dull amber light crushed under her stilettoed boot.  
Ten pm on a Friday night and the streets are as dead as the eyes of a shark.

The girl shoves her icy hands into her pockets and surveys the town she spent her whole life wandering around, her breath as white in the air as if she were still puffing away on her cigarette.  
A low whistle from behind her has her twisting at the waist.

Stiles. 

He saunters out of the darkness of the bridge like he's James Dean, except he's just a little bit rougher around the edges.  
Sharper.

“Hey doll, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a town like this?” he muses, tone light and playful as he leers exaggeratedly, his thumbs jammed into the pockets of his tight black jeans.

The girl's hand darts out and slaps his faded leather jacket clad chest, the dull thud muffled even more by the fabric wound tight around her knuckles.  
Stiles, as fast as lightening, catches her hand raising one pierced eyebrow in question.  
“What'd you do now doll? Punch another wall? Your parents won't need a contractor at this rate.”  
His voice sounds worn like a favourite sweater, soft even, aiming for nonchalant as he turns her hand left and right. Admiring the tiny, rusty stains littering the otherwise white cotton.

She tugs her hand from his grip sharply with a shrug that only lifts one shoulder, hiding it back in her pocket.

His honey golden eyes harden for the smallest of seconds, flashing as if they were aflame, before he lets it go.  
Stiles always lets things go.  
It's the main reason he's the girl's best friend.

“Alright, Ms Martin,” he caves with a put upon sigh, his plump lips stretching into a gleeful smile. “Where we heading tonight?”

The girl grabs the string drawn bag at her feet with a silent smirk, opening it just enough to show the crude, metal wolf masks inside.  
Stiles's grin is brighter than the street lights casting their orange glow into the foggy night sky.

“Well then, lets go have some fun, my love.”

Six simple words to get her blood racing. 

The girl smirks, lifting the corner of her jacket away from herself like a dress, bending her knees in a crude curtsy.

“After you kind sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Derek Hale slides his thick rimmed glasses off of his chiselled face and drops his forehead to his desk top with a muted thud.  
He's had enough. Enough with this stupid, ridiculous, unsolvable, piece of shit-

“Something on your mind Der?” 

Derek straightens up quicker than a snapping elastic band at the voice of his partner, Detective Erica Reyes-Boyd, five feet and nine inches of strength, intelligence and beauty, not to mention one of the highest ranking black belts in the city.

Derek smiles weakly rubbing at his eyes before replacing his glasses and scratching at the three days worth of beard scattered across his angular jaw.

“It's just this case,it just doesn't make sense to me! I mean, why would this young couple hand make wolf masks, break into a heavily surveillanced bank, take out everyone inside and then make off with only a fraction of the cash? Only to rob a different one three weeks later and then again two weeks after that and again yesterday! Why not just take what they needed from the first bank? Why risk the repeat performances? And how does no one know what they look like? How on earth did they manage to escape from a federal bank surrounded by cops and without a get away car and seemingly without anyone helping them? I just-”

Erica jumps as Derek snaps out of his chair smashing his fist onto the table top, a growl erupting from his throat. 

“Urghh! I just don't understand how they're doing it!” The words are gritted out from between clenched teeth, before the fight seems to just vanish from his bones as he flops back into his work chair, his hands fisted in his dark hair.   
“How are they doing it E?”

Erica sighs from her depths, her killer heels clicking against the exposed stone floors of the station as she crosses the room to pull her partner into a hug.   
“We'll get em Der, they'll slip up soon and we'll get them.”

Derek lets out a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding and slumps into his best friends embrace.   
He'd catch 'The Silver Wolves' if it was the last thing he ever did.

“You're right E, we'll get them.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh btw for the sake of this story, Isaac is 16 and a Stilinski, Scott and Allison are both 28 and married (and human), Stiles is 22 and a little bit magic ;) , Lydia is 19 and a genius banshee, Derek is 29 and human, Erica is 27 (human) and Boyd is 30 (also human).
> 
> Oh and WARNING FOR SOME GORE (but only a little and it doesn't mention how it happens!) 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos! Love you guys! :D

The house is quiet by the time Stiles gets home. 

The car that should be in the driveway is gone, as per usual, and the front door sticks so it takes him three tries with his bent house key before the lock finally clicks open and he can stumble into the house.  
The heatings up too high again which means Isaac is the only one home, 'good', Stiles thinks as he toes off his battered army boots using the opposite feet and drops his bag at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stiles? Is that you?” Isaac's voice calls from further inside the house, the living room probably.

“No, I'm a burglar, tell me where you keep all your non existent money!” he hollars back, smiling properly for the first time all day, as he heads towards the kitchen and switches on the kettle. The wooden floor boards creek under Isaac's feet as the teenager slouches into the kitchen behind him whilst Stiles grabs the milk from the fridge.

“How was your night?”   
Stiles smiles to himself turning to face his foster brother before promptly dropping the milk as he takes in the black and purple bruise circling Isaac's left eye.

“What happened? Oh my god who did this? Are you okay? I'm gonna kill the sons of bitches that did this!! I'm gonna-”   
Stiles' hearts pounding, a burning hot flush filling his cheeks, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are bleached white.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! Stiles!” Isaac almost coos, curling his long fingers around his foster brother's wrists. “Deep breaths okay, I'm fine! Look at me Stiles! I'm fine.”

Golden eyes meet blue as Stiles clamps down on the fury bubbling up in his veins.

The glass clock on the wall smashes to the floor, skattering the wood with glittering shards.

The glass in the back door cracks like its been punched.

Isaac takes an exaggerated breath and his brother follows suit, slowly calming his erratic heartbeat.

“Better?”

The kettle squeals as it reaches the boil.

Stiles nods before burying his face in the taller boys chest, wrapping his long arms around Isaac's thin waist. “Who was it?” he mumbles matching his breaths.

Isaac smiles softly into his brother's hair, smoothing his palm down his back. “Some stupid kid at school was talking shit about dad so I shut him up.” 

Stiles snorts out a laugh, pushing his brother back slightly with a grin, his panic almost forgotten. “Let me guess, if I think you look bad I should see the other guy?”

Isaac's gentle smile turns sharp at the corners, “lets just say he wont be bothering me again any time soon.” 

Stiles laughs properly then, a proper belly laugh that eases the last of the tension from his broad shoulders. 

“That's my boy.”

 

…

 

The brothers spend almost an hour comparing their days and devouring two minute noodles before Isaac heads to his bedroom to finish his 'mountain load' of homework due for tomorrow.   
Stiles follows suit, grabbing his discarded bag from the bottom step before following his little brother up the stairs, pausing at the first floor to hug goodnight before making his way up into his attic room.

His room was the biggest in the house taking up the entire attic, the space divided into two rooms, his bedroom and an en suite bathroom. 

During the day golden sunlight would stream through the skylight but now, a few hours before midnight, the moon can barely be seen through the clouds.   
The exposed light bulb hanging from the ceiling is blinding after the darkness of the staircase, making Stiles blink and illuminating his unmade bed pushed up against the far wall, the pale wooden book shelf bowing under the weight of over 100 books and nicknack’s , and his wide open wardrobe spitting clothes out over the royal blue carpet. 

Stiles locks his door before bypassing his room altogether and making for his bathroom. The room coming alive with a buzz as he turns on the light and locks the door behind him.

His bag lands on the closed toilet seat with a metallic clunk, freeing up his hands so he can unzip his leather jacket.  
He goes slow, revelling in the butter softness of a jacket passed down from father to son and once it's off he hangs it carefully on the metal hook mounted on the door before tugging off his tight black jeans, kicking them toward the hamper under the sink, leaving him in nothing but black boxers and a white henley.

A white henley that's splattered with blood.

Bright crimson and sticky dark brown, the right sleeve practically dripping with it. A desperately smudged hand print trails from his collar bone to half way down his ribs, like a crude kids finger painting. The buttons at his throat lay undone to his sternum, his creamy peach skin smeared in smattered with red red red.

 

Stiles meets his own wild gaze in the mirror, lifting the corners of his mouth in to a disturbing smirk, before reaching for the shirts hem, pulling it over his head and adding it the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

The shower sputters to life with a simple twist of the tap.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles finally meet <3

“Hale! Pack up your stuff and go! I don't wanna see your face here until Monday morning, its making me sick, you don't gotta go home, but cha gotta get the hell outta here, ya hear?!”

Derek winced at the shrill sound of his boss's voice from the doorway of his office.  
Chief Finstock might have been a bit of a joke around the station but if he tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked.

“Yes sir, I was on my way out sir.” Derek announces clambering to his feet whilst slinging on his suit jacket.  
Finstock rolls his eyes before stalking out of the room muttering about 'Bloody young, good looking cops, wasting away here on a Saturday night when they could be out partying'.

Derek snorts under his breath, before dragging a hand down his face with a sigh.  
It's been a week since the last Silver Wolf robbery and him and Erica still have zero clues as to who or how or why. Derek can't remember the last time he's eaten something that wasn't out of a vending machine or slept longer than five hours in his own bed.  
Mind made up that he's gonna take Finstock's advice, he tidies up his desk, grabs his brief case and flicks off the florescent light on the way out. 

There's a seat in his local restaurant/bar with his name on it.

 

…

 

McCall's Eatery and Bar is a family run joint two blocks from Derek's apartment on the outskirts of town. Run by Scott and Allison McCall, a young couple born and raised in Beacon Hills, they have the best food in the city, (well according to Derek, who rarely eats out and even then he only goes to McCalls), and the service is always polite but never invasive. Derek loves it.

“Detective Hale! Long time no see!” Scott calls from where he's cleaning glasses behind the bar, he's a good looking man in his mid to late 20's, tall, broad and with naturally tanned skin. If Derek didn't know Scott wasn't just straight, but only had eyes for his wife, Derek might have had a crush on him, but alas.

“Evening Scott, Jack and coke please, make it a double.” 

Scott frowns slightly placing a glass tumbler on the bar and filling it to the top, Derek tips his head in thanks, sliding onto a leather bar stool and downing the drink in one.

“Another?” Scott asks still holding onto the bottle.

Derek nods with a grimace, wiping his mouth with his suit sleeve and passing the glass back to Scott.

“Oh, one of those nights huh?” he asks with a chuckle.

“One of those years.” Derek replies with a weary grin.

Scott smiles sympathetically, refilling his glass and passing him a menu, “Your usual booth's free, I'll send Allison over in a bit.”

“Thanks man.” Derek replies picking up his drink and heading towards his favourite booth.  
He could already feel the stress of the day sliding off his broad shoulders as he loosens his crimson tie. Finstock was right, spending all his time at the station wasn't helping anyone, least of all himself . 

This was good, he could have a few drinks, maybe a good steak or a burger, maybe even have a chat with Allison about the Mets, and then he could go home and sleep in his own bed until he has to go back to work Monday morning, totally refreshed.  
Derek smiles, bringing his drink to his lips as he reaches his booth and promptly spills the whole thing down himself as he bumps into something solid. 

Very solid. Six feet of slim, perfectly muscled man, with chocolate brown sex hair, pale ivory skin and warm amber eyes that lock onto his own with a kind of intensity that makes Derek's stomach flip in the best way.

“Wow, hi.” Golden eyes practically gushes, steadying himself using Derek arm, flexing his long fingered grip around the strong muscle there, his eyes widening even more, smile turning almost predatory as he looks Derek up and down. 

“Hi.” 

They stand silently for what feels like a life time but is probably less than a minute, eyes locked, Derek's icy drink soaking through his pristine shirt to his suddenly over heated skin.

“Er, I was gonna sit down if you want to join me?” Derek's mouth says without his permission, breaking the lust filled silence, instantly scoulding himself internally for his stupidity before Golden eyes grin grows even bigger, (and seriously how is that even possible?).

“Yes! Oh I mean, yeah, cool. If that's alright with you?” Golden eyes flushes a delicate pink that contradicts the sharp planes of his face and makes him look younger than Derek original thought.  
Derek raises a thick eyebrow as he continues to stare, his hand still clutching Derek's bicep.  
He follows Derek's eyeline and then his blush kicks up a notch, before he's chuckling easily and sliding into the booth quicker that Derek can follow.

“Stiles! I'm Stiles I mean, just Stiles. It's sort of a nickname because my actual name is practically child abuse! What's yours? Name I mean, or nickname?”

Wow the man can talk, quick and animated, and Derek's as interested as he is confused as to how someone's tongue can move so quickly. Realising he's still standing like a weirdo, he slides into the booth, his knee brushing against Stiles', (Stiles? Really?) as he goes.

“Derek, Derek Hale.” he replies with a gentle smile and Stiles' eyes flash, just for a second, with something Derek can't quite place.

“That's Detective Derek Hale to you Stiles.” Scott interrupts from out of nowhere, sliding two drinks onto their table with slightly more force than necessary, his eyes never leaving Stiles'. “I've charged them to your bill like usual, and please don't hassle Derek with your Silver Wolf theories.”

Derek's eyes widen, his gaze flickering from Stiles to Scott who are locked in some serious eye contact before Stiles grins, sharp and almost cocky which makes Scott shake his head and stroll back to the bar.

“What's that about?” Derek asks, intrigued more than anything, in the three years he'd been coming to McCall's, he'd never seen Scott be anything but overly polite.

Stiles' smile softens, as he lounges back in the booth and he takes a sip out of his beer before answering, “Me and Scotty go way back, and as much as we're as close as brothers...” he trails off taking another swig of his beer, obviously weighing what he's about to say before shrugging.  
“Basically he thinks I shouldn't bother his customers.”

“Ah, I see.” Derek says, even though he doesn't really. The look Scott had given Stiles was a warning, but against what he wasn't sure.

Stiles grins and downs the last dregs of his beer, “Say la vie, right! Another?” 

Derek doesn't even think about saying no as he flags Scott back over.  
“So tell me about these theories of yours?”

“Really?” He asks sounding pleasantly surprised. Derek nods and the grin he gets in return is as blinding as the sun, warming his to his depths.

“Awesome! Okay, well obviously the 'Silver Wolves' are close, I'm leaning towards siblings because they're very similar in their movements, or maybe they grew up together, and, hey what?!” he crows, obviously trying to sound affronted but failing because of the grin still painted on his handsome face.

Derek laughs, “Nothing, I just didn't think these theories would be this well thought out.”

“Hey! I'll have you know I watch a lot of Criminal Minds, like A LOT! And I'm studying to be a behaviour analyst so we've been following the case in school.” He sticks his tongue out and Derek fights back the urge to curl his own around it.

“Okay, okay, okay! Please continue oh great one.”

“That's right let the master work! Like I was saying, related or extremely close, the male's older by a few years, a real leader, he's cold too, I mean, stone cold, I've never seen someone so calm in a situation before. He probably comes from an abusive back ground. Now the girl she's the brains, she plans every detail to perfection including the outfits they wear, I mean, an antique white lace dress for her, a tight fitting white henley for him and hand sculpted silver wolf masks? That's ritualistic, hell that might be the most important bit.”

Stiles pauses to take a deep sip of his drink and Derek can't take his eyes away from the bob of his adam's apple.

Derek clears his throat, “That's pretty much what we already have on them, what we can't figure out is how they disappear from the crime scene.”

“Ooooh! I have a theory.”

 

…

 

“Look, I'm not saying that they're aliens, I'm just saying that... Maybe they're aliens?!” 

Derek laughs so hard he almost spits his drink out. 

He and Stiles are a whole bottle of Jack Daniels, six beers and two burgers down three hours after meeting, and Derek feels blissed out.  
He's never met anyone like Stiles, who's beyond easy to talk to, hilarious, animated and passionate about everything. Not to mention gorgeous and interested. He can practically feel their attraction crackling in the air between them, he can't remember the last time he'd felt this into someone.

“I think you've just had too much to drink.” Derek announces with a smile before leaning across the table and stealing his drink, swallowing it in one gulp. 

Stiles sits wide eyed and flabbergasted, plush pink lips hanging open before curling into a seductive grin.  
“I hope there's other things you swallow that well.”

Derek licks his lips, knees pressed to Stiles', hands curled into the fabric of Stiles' sleeve. 

“Wanna go somewhere and find out.”

Stiles leans over the table, twisting his fingers into Derek's undone tie, tugging him close, “I thought you'd never ask.” he whispers before their lips meet in a soft, gentle kiss that quickly turns filthy. 

Derek finds out the Stiles' hair is the perfect length to fist his hands in, and that Stiles' hands cup his face as if they were made for it. 

Lips damp, pink cheeked and eyes cloudy, they pull apart.

“Your place or mine?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is my first time ever writing a guy on guy sex scene so please be gentle with me! :D
> 
> Sorry about the shoddy police work, I literally know nothing!
> 
> Enjoy!

Hung over doesn't even begin to describe how Derek feels the next morning. His head's pounding, his mouth feels like Gandhi’s flip-flop and every single muscle feels tight like, oh. Oh!

Derek eyes flutter open to reveal the mint green walls of his bedroom glowing almost blindingly from the sunlight streaming through the wide open blinds at his window. He rolls over with a grin to find Stiles, naked to the waist, still fast asleep, completely star fished on his back. His pale skin feels sleep warm where its pressed against Derek's side.

He looks gorgeous, the sunlight glinting off of the piercings in his eyebrow and ears, his unreal eyelashes a smudge of black against pale violet lids, the smattering of dark hair between his pecks and below his belly button leading down to where the bedding is tented, quite impressively. Derek especially likes the dark swirls of ink smattered across learn arms, ribs, broad shoulders and the finger print shaped bruises on his lover's hips that Derek's hands fit perfectly. 

“Ugh don't look at me I'm a mess,” Stiles slurs sleepily, his pouty lips curved into a smile, his warm honey eyes blinking up at Derek before fluttering shut, his long, clever fingers groping blindly for Derek making the older man chuckle and relent, rolling them so they're on their sides, curling his body around the younger man's.  
Stiles sighs happily as Derek nuzzles against his throat, his beard just on the good side of scratchy.

“Mhmm, feels good.” Stiles murmmers, wiggling his ass further back into the cradle of Derek's hips, making the older man choke on a breath.

Derek slides his hand until its resting just below Stiles' belly button before tugging him in close and grinding his morning wood against him. The moan that leaves Stiles' lips should be illegal, and it tips Derek over the edge.

Hot lips attach themselves to Stiles' neck, a maddening press of soft and rough, the tantalizing drag of Derek's tongue as he marks the boy as his.  
Stiles' is breathing like he's run a marathon, his body confused about whether it should be pressing back into the hard dick against his ass, or forward into the tight, spit slick fist sliding up and down his cock, mind numbingly slow.

“Der.. Derek please, I need.. I need..”  
It's no good, Stiles can barely breathe let only speak and it makes Derek grin and sink his teeth into the meaty part of Stiles' shoulder making him cry out in ecstasy.

“I, I wanna touch you, I wanna..” Stiles writhes against Derek, all heat and shameless lust, one hand clenched desperately in the sheets, the other curled around Derek's wrist as he pumps his cock in time with his thrusts. 

“Shh, it's good I've got you, just let me take care of you.” Derek coos, taking his hand away, about to lay Stiles on his back, when suddenly Derek finds himself flat out, Stiles straddling his hips, his cock slapping his stomach in the most delicious way.

“I want you in me, I want you to fuck me like you did last night.” he demands, pressing his open palms against Derek's pecks, his pupils are blown wide, hardly any brown on show before he closes his eyes and leans down to kiss him. It makes Derek dizzy how much he wants this man, and the kiss quickly turns dirty at the thought, Derek canting his hips as Stiles grinds down, tongues slick, hands fisted in each other hair. 

They pull apart too soon for Derek's liking, but they're both panting any way and then, and then Stiles smirks. He smirks likes he's totally in control of himself, as if he wasn't on the verge of coming just moments before, as if totally unaffected by what's happening. Derek startles for a second, goes to ask if Stiles is okay before any thought he might have had vanishes as Stiles impales himself on Derek's dick.

“Ohfuckingholyshit!” Derek cries instead, fitting his hands over the bruises that were his, thrusting up into the tight, perfect heat, as Stiles slumps forward, elbows either side of Derek's head and bounces, his eyes two pools of molten lava as they lock onto Derek's and everything fades out but the two of them.

They work in perfect harmony, as if they were made only for this.

It feels like an eternity, but maybe it's only minutes later when Stiles cries out louder then ever, “I'm gonna, I'm gonna come! Want you to come with me. Come on Der, come for me , come...” He trails off into silence, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, cock spluttering all across Derek's abs and Derek's done for, sitting up so Stiles is in his lap he slams up once, twice, three times before burying himself to the hilt and coming harder then he thought possible.

It takes a moment before either can even think about moving but they eventually collapse into a sweaty disgusting heap on top of the soiled sheets and then they're laughing, proper, blissed out laughter as they twist they're bodies so close its hard to tell who's who.

“Oh my god dude, I'm pretty sure I saw stars!” Stiles giggles, pressing a kiss to the underside of Derek's jaw. Derek grins back, pressing a kiss to his lips in retaliation. “That's definitely the best wake up I've had in a long, long, long time. Or y'know, ever.”

Derek shows his agreement by kissing his lovers temple before rolling onto his side dragging Stiles with him until the younger is spooning his back.

“Ahh, I see, big spoon, little spoon, I'm down with whatever as long as its vertical, though maybe we could try against the wall sometime or oooh you're a cop right? Could we do it over your cruiser or on top of your desk? On your chair? Wait do you even have an office? Can-”

Stiles is cut of by Derek's lips colliding against his own, though its more a press of smiles than a real kiss.

“Sleep first, then breakfast, then we can discuss where we have sex next time.” 

Stiles grins, his smile reaching from ear to ear, “Yeah okay, I can live with that.”

 

…

 

The second time Derek wakes up his bed is empty and there's a post-it note stuck to his forehead.

'Hey, sorry to have incredible life changing sex and run, but worked called!  
Don't think this lets you off with not calling me though! I programmed my number into your phone ;)  
See you soon Detective.  
Stiles xoxo'

Derek snorts but carefully places the note in his bed side table and pulls out his phone, flicking through his contacts finding a new number under the name, 'Stiles is a sex god ;)'.  
Derek laughs and adds the number to his favourites, sliding out of bed and dragging the bedding with him because after last night it needs a serious wash. 

He's half way through fighting with a pillow case when something Stiles said springs to mind and he jumps to his phone, hitting speed dial and calling Erica before he can second guess himself.

“Derek this better be good, me and Boyd are in the middle of-”

“Ugh, Erica please stop! I think I might have a new lead on the case!”

Through the line he hears Erica mumble something to her husband before there's a rustle of clothing and she says, “Okay, I'm listening.”

Derek takes a deep breath, dragging a hand through his hair, “ Do you remember those cases a few years ago that made the news, that group of magic users that held up a school, the Argents cult that kidnapped kids with 'the gift' and that string of murders that ended with everyone with magic, latent or not, having to be put on the FBI watch list?” 

“You think the Silver Wolves are magic?” Erica gasps, “Oh my god that makes so much sense! Ugh why didn't anyone think of this before! That means they'll be on the data base and all we need is their fingerprints to catch them! You genius you!”

“Yeah I know,” he jokes, feeling slightly smug, “But in all seriousness, no one thinks to check because magic users using their powers for bad are so rare, there's only been like ten/twenty cases ever reported since magic was revealed to the public almost 100 years ago.”  
Derek grins, his chest expanding with hope, “We're actually gonna catch them E!" He announces giddily making Erica squeal in excitment, "Alright, alright, I'll meet you at the station later to tell the Chief, enjoy all the sex.”

Erica chuckles, “Definitely, give me an hour, two tops! See you soon Detective Awesome!” She hangs up leaving Derek feeling happier than he has in a long time.

His life is finally coming together.


End file.
